


Tears

by alliebird58



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 03:03:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5358620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alliebird58/pseuds/alliebird58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times Merida dried her own tears, and one time she didn’t have to</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tears

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by shadowfauxe‘s lovely headcanon over on tumblr. Not quite what I was expecting to write but these two Scottish lovelies got carried away.

One (Grief)

The day her father died is, quite possibly, one of the worst days of her life thus far.

The memory of that day - watching her father’s attacker approach from behind, taking her aim, watching the arrow miss its intended target, seeing her father cut down before her very eyes - still haunts her waking and sleeping hours. The pain is as fresh as if the whole thing happened days ago, not years. It is a constant ache in her heart; numbed by the passing of the days but never truly gone. The hurt lingers at the edge of her mind and echoes through her thoughts.

The aftermath of the death of King Fergus is not much better.

Merida remembers immediately after the battle ends, as the news of the death of the king made its way through her fellow clansmen. She watched as faces fell, as confusion and grief was written between the lines of anger. She heard the murmured questions, the “well are we sure it’s true?” and “how did it happen?” and “why wasn’t anybody there to help?” and Merida couldn’t feel anything at all.

Merida remembers walking (stumbling) down the hillside towards the battlefield, ignoring everything and everyone around her, making her way to the spot where her father drew his last breath. She remembers staring at his lifeless form for what seemed like hours (though it was actually mere minutes). Then she remembers issuing orders, one after another. Take care of the injured, pack up camp, load up the bodies of the dead (she couldn’t bring herself to say his name), and then she marched to her tent and sunk onto her cot. Merida stared at the fraying cloth walls of that tent for hours, replaying the last minutes of her father’s life over and over and over and then the realization that he wasn’t coming back hit her like a brick to the chest.

Her body felt like it was going to collapse inward and explode outward into a million pieces all at once, and then she was crying. No, not even crying. Sobbing. Uncontrollable, body-wracking sobs that stole her breath and burned her nose. She could have cried for ten minutes or ten hours, she would never really know. But just as suddenly as it began, there was nothing. All that was left was the shell of a girl, like a barren land after a storm.

And there in the silence of her tent, Merida pulled herself up and dried her eyes. Yes she was hurt beyond measure, but there were her men out there, needin’ direction from someone. So with head held high, she walked out of the tent and began a new chapter of her life.

 

Two (Anger)

The legend of Queen Merida’s famous temper is one that has spread far beyond the reaches of DunBroch. True, she is known through the land as a just and fair ruler, but her temper is raw and hot and easily provoked if the right buttons are pushed. Some say her temper has simmered down a bit with time (she hasn’t punched anyone in the nose in quite a while, thank you very much) though the truth in the matter is she has just traded fists and swords and arrows for words and withering look. She is known for wielding a tongue sharper than any blade to be found, and she is unafraid to use it.

In her early days as queen, though, her temper is still a bit too wild and it burns through a room if left alone. It is sharp and physical and nasty and everything that a queen is not supposed to be. Still, there have been very few occasions where her anger has reached uncontrollable levels, but the day one of her advisers (an old stuffy lord, embittered by a woman sitting on the throne without a man at her side) actually makes the suggestion that she only was crowned because of her ability to…pleasure men in all the must vulgar ways, she flies off the handle.

She is used to the snide, underhanded comments about how her female parts make her unfit for the pressures of leadership, but this is the first time anyone has made such a bold statement to her face.

So she doesn’t particularly think it’s an overreaction when she storms up to him and proceeds to knock everything on the table to the ground in a magnificent fit of rage.

And then knees Lord McStuffyPants in the groin.

(Her mother might disagree with her reaction on that last bit, but she doesn’t care)

She storms out of the meeting hall, ignoring the yells of her mother, advisers, and fellow clansmen behind her…

…and makes it to the gardens before she realizes that she’s crying.

She punches a tree, and it trembles from the force of the hit. Her body shakes and the tears come faster and faster, angry and unchecked. How dare he make such an accusation? She is young and strong and stubborn, but she is not – has never been – completely impervious to the hurtful, scathing remarks of those older than her. While she tries her hardest to make herself appear as rock, hard and unaffected by the elements of man and nature, she is more like a bottle. Every poisonous word, sidelong glance, fills her up and she can only take so much before she finally blows. 

Her knuckles are bloody from the tree and her face is surely puffy and red from the tears and her legs are still shaking from the sheer amount of rage flowing through her body. But eventually she comes back to her head and remembers there is still a chamber full of lords waiting for her to finish up work. Sure, her mother could handle the proceedings (she probably already is) but she is QUEEN damn it and she will act like one.

So she closes her eyes, steadies her hands and counts to ten.

Then she counts to twenty.

By the time she’s reached fifty, the shaking has stopped and she can move her feet towards the castle.

Sixty and she can almost breathe normally.

Eighty, she reaches the door of the council chamber.

Ninety and she takes another breath, steeling her nerves.

Ninety-five, she wipes her eyes.

Ninety-nine, she lifts her head.

One hundred, she walks through the door.

 

Three (Embarrassment)

One of Merida’s favorite parts about being queen is getting to attend all the festivals. She revels in the merriment and the laughter, loves getting to spend time with the people who make up her kingdom. There is always delicious food and heartwarming stories and drink flowing freely. Sure there’s the diplomacy of matters – making sure she never spends too long with one group of people or the other, interfering before situations rise to difficult levels – the weight of her crown is always present, whether she wears it or not. But she never lets it settle too far into her chest, and always manages to make her way back to her bedchambers with a smile on her lips and a song in her bones.

But she does not dance.

Not for lack of trying on her part, to be fair. She was just born with two left feet is all and the closeness to people that is necessary for most dances makes her skin itch and her palms sweaty. So most nights she chooses to just avoid it altogether. She circles the edge of whatever festival or gathering she is at, always staying far enough away from the open area that has musicians playing and bodies dancing in hopes that nobody will connect the music with their queen.

So she finds herself at one particular festival – celebrating the end of the fall harvest and a good, healthy crop for the winter – doing just that, circling the outer fringes with a mug of ale in her hand and wearing a small grin. She has officially talked to all of the most important people at the gathering (or the people who think they are important and would make her life miserable should she fail to acknowledge them) and she is taking a moment to just breathe it all in and exist.

When she sees the Lord Macintosh heading straight for her, she knows she should have turned the other direction.

“My queen,” he says as he gives her a small bow, “would you be so inclined to partner the next dance with me?” The look he gives her is just a little mischievous (he knows damn well she doesn’t dance. Ever) and she can tell he’s had a few drinks and there’s a glint of hope in his eye that does things to her heart that she refuses to acknowledge. So she sighs and makes a valiant (weak) attempt to deny him.

But somehow he manages to convince her to let him lead her in a dance. Though she will swear it’s only because she is feeling generous and the music is doing something to her body and her soul. It has absolutely nothing to do with his ridiculous, crooked grin or warm eyes that she could get lost in or those silly (endearing) blue stripes he wears.

So that’s how she finds herself making her way to the one area of the festival that she never wanted to, in the arms of a man she never would have expected.

Yes, she will definitely be ignoring the butterflies in her stomach when he takes a step closer.

And for the first minute or so, everything is fine. Surprisingly Lord Macintosh is quite a competent dancer and leads her through the paces of the dance with ease, though he definitely chuckles at the rigidness of her form and his breath tickles her ear and neck as he leans down to whisper, “Relax darlin’ you’re stiff as a tree.” 

She nearly has a heart attack, barely able to huff out “that’s queen to you, ye great oaf,” and he’s chuckling again and her mind is spinning and that’s when everything goes wrong. She goes to take a turn and nearly collides with the person nearby and then ends up tripping over the hem of her dress and goes tumbling spectacularly to the ground.

Right into a giant puddle of goopy mud.

Everything goes silent for a moment, all eyes on Queen Merida, covered head to toe in mud.

And then someone laughs. And others join in. And soon there is roaring, drunken laughter sweeping through the crowds. Merida is absolutely horrified, shame burning at her cheeks and she can feel her eyes beginning to sting and she knows that if she does not make a hasty retreat to her chambers that she will soon be a blubbering mess in front of her entire kingdom.

She hauls herself up, swiping at her eyes as she storms off in the direction of her rooms, though she does look back, just once, to spare a glance at her forgotten dance partner.

And if the fact that he’s not laughing with the rest of them, merely looking at her with concern, makes her eyes burn for a different reason, she will never tell.

 

Four (Pain)

Being queen is a responsibility that Merida wears wonderfully. She understands the gravity of such a title and treats her crown with reverence. The weight of her crown reminds her of her power, and the council table she sits around keeps her humble. But sometimes she is restless, and the metaphorical chains that keep her tied to the castle become too much to bear.

So when she finally convinces the council to let her lead a small raiding party to clear out some thieves in the woods, her smile could light up the city for weeks. There are mindless precautions that she has to follow but she absolutely does not care because for five whole days she will be free of the castle she has come to love.

Absence does make the heart grow fonder, as they say.

Merida has missed the swinging of her sword, clashing and ringing against another. She has missed the sound her arrow makes as it flies through the air. But most of all she has missed being able to have an active hand in defending her people.

And everything about the mission is routine, right up until the end. They finally come upon the clearing in the thick of the woods where the bandits have set up camp. There were only supposed to be three of ‘em. But those three actually turn out to be fifteen.

The fight is swift and brutal and the scantily armed, inexperienced thieves aren’t very good at fighting actual people so the ten clansmen are able to easily take most of them down. There are only two of them left conscious, and Merida turns away from the fight for a brief second only to hear the whizzing of an arrow come from behind her, and then feel it embed itself deep into her side.

For a moment she doesn’t do anything, and then she starts to sway slightly on Angus. The blood in her ears starts thrumming and everything starts to sound farther and farther away when she realizes she’s about to lose consciousness. Someone yells to grab her before she falls and she hears a few seconds more of shouting before it’s quiet.

A body has pulled her from the back of Angus, and she’s struggling to stay awake but gods above the pain, it feels like someone is ripping out her insides slowly. She is laid on her back and she notices briefly her men standing around her, looking concerned but for the most part unharmed (gods bless) and then she closes her eyes and gives in to the darkness for a while.

When she finally comes around, she is laying in the palace in her bed (gods above how long was she out for?). The world groggily comes into focus and for a moment she forgets what happened. The memory of the arrow deep in her side comes back to her when she goes to sit up, only to have an incredible wave of pain whoosh through her body, leaving her breathless and falling back to the bed. Merida closes her eyes, slowly breaths in and out, and realizes she has tears falling down her face only when they hit her arm. She assumes it’s a natural response to the pain but it’s entirely unpleasant and she wants to kick herself for being unable to cope with a little arrow wound.

(Later she would find out that no, it was not a “little wound” by any means, the arrow had stuck in her side almost 4 inches and she lost a lot of blood and she was absolutely, indefinitely grounded from leaving the castle)

She angrily swipes at her damp face and steels herself again to sit up. When she is finally able to without collapsing back down, she gives a small smile, and considers it a personal victory.

 

…and one time she didn’t have to (everything all at once)

Jealousy was an ugly emotion. It turned people mean and spiteful and Merida did her best to make sure that the green-eyed monster never made an appearance in her life, and she did relatively well with that task. That is until one day when she was sitting in the council room, chatting with some of the men before a meeting. It was about time to begin meeting when she noticed the only one missing was Macintosh.

“Lads, anyone seen Mac around here lately?” she asked the group and they all started murmuring to one another and she heard someone mention about him probably being wrapped in the arms of his new lassie. Laughter resounded around the men in the room and Merida forced herself to laugh along. For some inexplicable reason, something in her was burning and angry and she had no idea why. It took her the span of 3 heartbeats to realize what it was. Jealousy. Thick and hot, burning its way through her veins. It was only then that the chamber doors swung open and in waltzed Lord Macintosh, grinning his stupid grin and muttering apologizes on being late.

Merida swallowed thickly, trying to ignore the stabbing pain she felt somewhere near her chest and tried to settle into the rhythm of the meeting. That worked for about ten minutes until someone started drolling on about taxes and collections and Merida utterly lost interest (dry topics such as this were never her strong suit). Instead she found her mind wandering back to her earlier momentary lapse into jealousy.

It was definitely an uncommon emotion for her, because while she was definitely prone to rage, jealousy was something that just never came along. Though she would be a fool and kidding to herself if she didn’t recognize the root of the cause, which were her ever growing (still hidden) feelings for the dark, curly haired man sitting next to her.

It was not like she wanted to have feelings for the man – quite the opposite really. But somehow he had weaseled his way into her mind and her heart and whenever he looked at her, her stomach started to churn and she could feel goosepimples break out across her flesh and then invariably he would grin at her and her insides would melt and her face would flush a bright shade of crimson.

Emotions were awful, Merida had told her mother one day, and Elinor had just chuckled and patted her daughter’s head and murmured that she would not sing such a tune forever.

And in the middle of her musings, she must have completely lost track of the council meeting occurring about her, because she looked up to see twelve pairs of eyes staring intently at her, waiting for an answer to a question she had definitely not been listening to.

She could feel her face flame and she stuttered out an apology, tried to rise to her feet to go fetch a cup of water from the table nearby and she caught the edge of her gown on the leg of her chair and nearly planted her face into the floor. She was only saved from a humiliating encounter with the tile by the strong arm painted with blue stripes firmly wrapping around her waist to keep her upright, and if she hadn’t already been flustered enough, that contact threw her over the edge into the land of stammering and apologies and suddenly her feet were carrying her out the great doors as quickly as they could.

Once she exited the room and made it around the corner Merida stopped short. She had no idea where she was going or even why she had made such a hasty retreat. So instead she closed her eyes, took a deep breath and leaned her forehead against the cool tile of the cobblestone wall. The coolness was a great contrast to her warm face and she found herself briefly wishing for a bucket of cold water to douse herself with.

Merida was pulled from her ministrations by a loud slamming of a door and then someone clearing their throat just off to her left. She turned her head slightly, only to see the last person in the world she wanted to at that moment.

“Merida, are ya alright?” she heard Macintosh question, concern laced through every word. No! She wanted to say, she was most certainly not alright. She had somehow turned into a blithering fool because of an arm and pretty eyes. What was her life coming to?

“Aye, yes I’m alright. And that’s queen to you, laddie,” she spoke with what she hoped was a light and care free tone, but something in her voice must have betrayed her because instead of agreeing and walking away, Macintosh took another step towards her and she found herself trapped against the wall, nowhere to run.

“Are ya sure, because you made an awfully hasty run for it back there, has to be some reason why I suspect,” came his teasing reply and if she could’ve moved her arm, she would’ve reached up and smacked the silly grin off his face.

Unfortunately for her, he was now standing right in front of her and suddenly it was hard to breathe again and a million different emotions flooded her body, overwhelming her senses. Everything from confusion to frustration to embarrassment to want and desire crashed over her in a great wave. And apparently the only way her body could manifest the onslaught of emotions was by producing tears.

Merida felt absolutely, stupidly ridiculous standing in front of Macintosh, emotions tripping over themselves and crying her eyes out, feeling the tears fall quickly, one after another down her face, onto the waist of her gown.

For a long, quiet moment, the only sound in the great hall was of Merida’s crying and harsh breathing. She nearly jumped out of her skin when felt a hand gently tilt her chin up, and she found herself starring into a pair of warm eyes, laced with concern.

“What is wrong, Merida, please tell me,” and that was all it took for her to fall apart completely. Merida let out a frustrated breath as she angrily pushed away Macintosh’s hand.

She paced a few steps away, only to turn back and suddenly everything she had started feeling for him tumbled out in an onslaught of words that couldn’t be held back. “It’s you! You are what’s wrong with me! Your eyes and your stupid, stupid smile that melts my insides and I don’t know how this happened but all of a sudden it’s hard to breath around you and I just want it to stop.” Merida paused for a breath, tears still falling furiously in a great storm. She was about to launch into a continuation of all the grievances she wanted to list against the man before her, but she was halted be the soft feel of warm hands against her cheeks.

She was about to ask what in the blazes he was doing when she realized he was holding her face in his hands, gently wiping the tears off her bright cheeks.

“That is quite a list you’ve got there. I would say I’m sorry, my queen, but I would be lyin’” Came his quiet reply, and she was about to blaze onward about why he wasn’t sorry about causing her pain when she felt his lips softly brush against her own. Shock was the first emotion to take hold, but after a pause, she felt herself relax and slowly begin to respond to his kiss.

What started off as slow and chaste, a simple brush of lips against another, quickly turned into something more as a heat flared through her body, and suddenly Merida found herself against the wall, trapped between the cool material and the warm body in front of her and desire rushing through bones.

And just as quickly as it began, it was over. And Merida couldn’t find words.

“Forgive me, my queen, but I’ve been wantin’ to do that for ages now,” Macintosh admitted with a slight grin, and Merida felt warmth bloom in her chest, unexpected and welcome. She recognized the emotion at once.

Hope.

And for the first time in a long while, the cacophony of emotions that swirled through her body was comforting.

Maybe her mother had been right. Emotions weren’t so bad after all.


End file.
